“If a harm came to you or me in the river, I reckon the body would be washed right away to Sharpitor,” said Pepperill.
“Uncle!” said Kate, with a laugh, “that would be going up hill.”
“I’m getting mazed,” growled he; “so it is. Well, folk would say one or other of us had come by an accident among the rocks o’ Sharpitor, and tumbled into the river and been carried down by the stream. That’s likely—eh?”
“I suppose so, uncle. But if anything were to happen to one, that the other would know, and do all he could to help.”
“Of course.”
Pepperill was looking at the brawling torrent.
“And if anything were to chance to one here, the body would be carried right down the Chase for miles till it came to the other bridge.”
“I daresay, uncle. But don’t talk like that. Let us look at the moonlight. There is a man yonder—by the side of the river.”
“A man—where?”
“By that large stone.”